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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616888">of grilled cheese and video games</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily'>LeapAngstily</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>those who can't easily hide [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Cliché A Week 2021, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, M/M, Neurodiversity, Non-Chronological, Roommates, Teen Crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:22:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Riccardo moves in with Giampaolo to avoid the daily commute to Bergamo. Snapshots from Pazzolivo’s time in the Atalanta Academy and beyond, including full names, awkward birthday parties, and some sensory overload.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Riccardo Montolivo/Giampaolo Pazzini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>those who can't easily hide [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2311862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>of grilled cheese and video games</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the seventh week of <a href="https://montocalypse.tumblr.com/post/643194391174021120/week-7-and-they-were-roommates-roommates-au">Cliché A Week 2021</a> challenge, I bring you a Pazzolivo roommate AU (though only very slight AU, as it still takes place in the 'canon' world) that was supposed to be fluff but then I started writing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Why don’t you move in with me? I’ve got space, it’ll be awesome!”</em>
</p>
<p>On paper, it seems like a perfect solution.</p>
<p>Riccardo is tired of commuting between Caravaggio and Bergamo – an hour’s trip to one direction on a good day – and what with being promoted to the first team, it isn’t a viable solution even in theory.</p>
<p>Giampaolo, on the other hand, has his own place in Bergamo – two bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, and a living room with a TV and all the newest game consoles, because why would a future football star settle for anything less – and he keeps whining about how he hates the silence, living alone in a space too big for him.</p>
<p>Once the idea is out, no further persuasion is needed, because in the four years they have known each other, Riccardo has never learned to say no to Giampaolo.</p>
<p>So, after a short argument with his parents that is quickly settled once he promises to bring Giampaolo over for dinner every other week and to call his mom every day, Riccardo packs two suitcases and asks his brother to drive him to Bergamo and his new life as an independent adult.</p>
<p>(“You’re no adult, brat,” Luca tells him and ruffles his hair. “Get that bloody driver’s license already so I can stop driving you around the county.”)</p>
<p>Riccardo and Giampaolo spend that first night playing FIFA, drinking too much Red Bull, and eating pizza straight out of the box. It reminds Riccardo of the sleepovers they used to have when Giampaolo first joined the Atalanta Academy, except back then it was rarely just the two of them.</p>
<p>It is still nostalgic in the best possible way when Giampaolo shouts and grabs Riccardo’s arm in a failed attempt to stop him from scoring another penalty, and then blobs down half on top of him, giggling at his losing streak when Riccardo doesn’t even own a PS2.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy you’re here, Riccardo,” Giampaolo admits with a small smile when Riccardo is done beating him for the third time in a row. The corners of his eyes wrinkle with the smile, and Riccardo finds himself stuck on the sight, because even after four years, he still finds Giampaolo’s dark eyes the prettiest he has ever seen.</p>
<p>“I’m happy I’m here too,” he speaks it like a secret. He bumps their shoulders together and breaks the eye contact, looking at the controller in his lap instead, suddenly feeling shy for no reason.</p>
<p>Giampaolo cuts the tension by stealing the last slice of pizza and exclaiming he should call his girlfriend, not caring it’s two in the morning and Silvia, unlike them, has work in the morning.</p>
<p>Riccardo sighs and switches to single-player mode as Giampaolo gets his phone and slips into the kitchen to talk in private. He does his best to ignore the dejected feeling he cannot quite push away when the affectionate babble from the other room fills his comfortable silence.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Contrary to popular belief, they did not hit off their friendship right off the bat.</p>
<p>Riccardo had been with the Academy six years when the new left back from Tuscany joined the team. Giampaolo had just turned 15 – only half a year older than Riccardo – and for the reserved midfielder, his presence was too damn loud from day one.</p>
<p>Giampaolo was fun and sociable, with a cheeky sense of humour and a tendency for too much physical contact, and he immediately inserted himself into Riccardo’s usual group of mates, making friends left and right and centre as he overshared details of his life and asked too many questions for someone who had just met them.</p>
<p>To Riccardo, it felt like all air had been sucked out of the room – this new boy he did not know forcing himself into his life and acting like he had always been there, calling him ‘Ricky’ and demanding the attention of everyone around them.</p>
<p>He was a good player, too, Riccardo soon came to notice. Probably better than him, which was infuriating because their coach insisted on playing them together on the left side, Giampaolo on the flank and Riccardo as left mid.</p>
<p>“Our best combo, you two can really become something big!” the manager beamed at them after the first match they started together.</p>
<p>“Sure thing, mister, as long as Ricky keeps feeding me balls,” Giampaolo grinned and threw an arm around Riccardo’s shoulders, making him freeze. He hated being touched unexpectedly; he barely tolerated it on the pitch, let alone outside of it.</p>
<p>“You’re making fun of me,” he muttered when the coach left them alone, shrugging Giampaolo’s arm off him.</p>
<p>“Wha--?” Giampaolo stared at him with wide eyes. “No, Ricky! You’re awesome, I wouldn’t play half as good if you weren’t playing with me.”</p>
<p>“Stop calling me that,” Riccardo snapped as he avoided another attempt by Giampaolo to grab his shoulder, “you’re not my friend. It’s ‘Riccardo’ to you.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo looked like Riccardo had just slapped him.</p>
<p><em>Don’t apologize</em>, Riccardo told himself as he kept staring down the boy who had unashamedly invaded his perfectly comfortable little bubble and burst it from inside out.</p>
<p>After a few moments of silence, Giampaolo’s expression softened, the creases between his eyebrows flattening as he offered Riccardo a tentative smile, dark brown eyes meeting light blue. “You’re right. Sorry, Riccardo.”</p>
<p>He did not try to touch Riccardo again as they left the dressing room.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They drive to practice together every day.</p>
<p>Sometimes Giampaolo lets Riccardo drive, a fresh driver’s license in his pocket but little confidence in his actual skills. Riccardo soon finds Giampaolo’s patient instructions prove much more useful than any of the classes he took before the driving test.</p>
<p>Usually, they also drive back home and have dinner together, unless Giampaolo has a date with Silvia or is invited to go out with their old youth team friends. Riccardo is rarely invited, and even when he is, he often declines because he knows it is only out of obligation to Giampaolo that they even ask.</p>
<p>Riccardo gets along much better with their new first team teammates, most of whom are older than him but despite that never belittle him because of his age or personality. With the first team, he finally feels like he is being taken seriously, seen as his own person instead of just a mandatory extension of Giampaolo’s social group.</p>
<p>“Hey Pazzo, you coming tonight?” one of their <em>Primavera</em> mates calls out when they run into each other after training. Riccardo feels his mood slumping, because they had planned to drive to Caravaggio and have dinner with his parents, but if Giampaolo is not coming, he really doesn’t feel like commuting on his own.</p>
<p>He has no idea what’s happening tonight, probably a night of beer and a Champion’s League match in some pub downtown.</p>
<p>“Nah, not tonight,” Giampaolo says, much to Riccardo’s surprise. “Me and Riccardo have a date night! Meeting the in-laws for dinner.”</p>
<p>Riccardo chokes on his own spit as Giampaolo wraps an arm around his waist, slipping into his personal space like he belongs there. Maybe he does – it has been years since Riccardo last flinched away from his touch.</p>
<p>“Ah,” their old teammate says, eyeing their compromising position without even lifting an eyebrow, “maybe next time then. See you around Pazzo. Ricky.”</p>
<p>Riccardo mumbles something agreeable as the man passes by them, not moving away from Giampaolo’s half-hug even though all his nerves are on high alert. This feels different. He knows Giampaolo’s casual touches, and this is <em>not it</em>.</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to decline for my sake,” he says when he is certain they are alone in the corridor.</p>
<p>“I didn’t.” Giampaolo shrugs. “I wouldn’t miss your dad’s cooking for any force in the world.” He drops his chin on Riccardo’s shoulder and blows into his ear affectionately. “Besides, I much prefer your company to any of theirs. You should know that by now.”</p>
<p>A chill runs down Riccardo’s back even as he feels his cheeks heating up.</p>
<p>Of course, he should’ve known that.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Giampaolo did not give up.</p>
<p>He kept joining same groups and talking to Riccardo even when he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He followed even when Riccardo made a conscious effort to pull back from his old friends and found new people to hang out with.</p>
<p>At least he had stopped trying to touch Riccardo in the way he did with the rest of the squad, always keeping him at arm’s distance, even amid goal celebrations. And they scored <em>a lot</em> – Riccardo kept passing to Giampaolo who would cut in the middle and take a shot, more often than not hitting his target.</p>
<p>“Wow, Pazzo! You sure you wanna stick with left back when you could be a striker?”</p>
<p>“It’s all thanks to Riccardo. Anyone would score from those assists!” Giampaolo flashed a wide grin at their teammate that softened into an apologetic smile when his eyes met Riccardo’s. “You really should give him more credit.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo was the only one on the squad who called him by his proper name. To everyone else he was ‘Ricky’ or ‘Monto’ – or even ‘Monty’ to an odd non-Italian on the team – but Giampaolo had stuck with ‘Riccardo’ ever since he told him to use it.</p>
<p>Their teammates had found it oddly formal when everyone else went by their nicknames, but they had stopped questioning it after a few weeks.</p>
<p>And Riccardo? He found it strangely intimate because no one outside his immediate family used his full name. Sometimes he wished he had never opened his big mouth and just let Giampaolo call him whatever he pleased. But on the other hand, it made him feel special, because it was a proof every single day that Giampaolo had heard him.</p>
<p>He still wouldn’t call Giampaolo his <em>friend</em>, but every passing day he found himself welcoming the company more easily, a new constant in his life he had not realized he needed. In private moments, Riccardo secretly wished he could hold onto it, because this was the first time he felt like someone’s first choice.</p>
<p>After the match, Riccardo found himself a nice quiet seat on the team bus, far from the rowdy crowd at the back. He plugged his earbuds in and hit play on his walkman, drowning out the sounds around him as he tried to wind down from the game.</p>
<p>His musical retreat was shortly interrupted by someone plopping down in the seat next to him. Riccardo glanced over and found Giampaolo beaming at him.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” Riccardo grumbled as he pulled out one earbud, face not quite as uninviting as he might have hoped as curiosity snuck into his voice.</p>
<p>“We— well, I was thinking,” Giampaolo said with a shy smile that was so unlike him it grabbed Riccardo’s whole attention, “would you like to come over to mine tonight? Me and some of the guys were planning to get pizza and play video games into the night since we have tomorrow off.”</p>
<p>He looked so hopeful that Riccardo found himself unable to refuse outright. “…I don’t really play games.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo grinned, eyes shining with excitement. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll teach you! And it’s not about how good you are – we’re just gonna have fun and stuff our faces with too fatty food.”</p>
<p>Riccardo felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Giampaolo’s grin infectious.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>It took a moment before surprised delight started spreading across Giampaolo’s face. “Wow, Riccardo! You have <em>no idea</em> how many times I’ve wanted to ask you--”</p>
<p>“I need to call my parents first, though,” Riccardo was quick to remind him. His mom would be delighted to hear he would be spending more time with his friends, he was sure of it, but he wouldn’t even dream of not letting them know first.</p>
<p>“Sure, I get it,” Giampaolo replied with a wide smile, brown eyes locked on Riccardo’s. His eyes were so pretty – Riccardo had always wished his eyes were that colour, instead of the blue he had always found jarring.</p>
<p>“And you don’t need to call me Riccardo,” Riccardo added, face heating up with a blush and heart hammering against his ribcage so hard he was afraid it might burst out. “It was stupid of me to drag you about it like that. Just call me whatever you want.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Giampaolo tilted his head curiously, lips pursed in contemplation. “I think I’ll stick with Riccardo, if you don’t mind. It’s a nice name; it suits you.”</p>
<p>Riccardo didn’t know what to think of that, so he only blushed brighter.</p>
<p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Riccardo has never held any illusions about Giampaolo and his relationship.</p>
<p>It is one thing to make a new friend at fourteen and slowly come to realize you cannot get enough of their company, and yet another to admit what that feeling actually <em>means</em>. You don’t come out to your straight best friend by confessing your love for them. Especially not when they are in a relationship of their own.</p>
<p>When he first moved in with Giampaolo, Riccardo had been certain he was over his silly crush. It has been four years, and he has seen many infatuations come and go during that time – none of them stayed though, not like Giampaolo, who had slowly but steadily commandeered the position at Riccardo’s left side.</p>
<p>(The side of his heart.)</p>
<p>When Silvia first comes over, Riccardo doesn’t mind. He likes her well enough, and she has never made him feel like extra baggage in Giampaolo’s life, more than content admitting Riccardo was there first and therefore is not going anywhere. He lets them have their space and they let him have his, and all of them are fine with the arrangement.</p>
<p>Hence, he doesn’t know what to do with himself some weeks later when he finds himself hiding in his room, waiting for the couple to leave the apartment so he can come out without having to witness their awfully domestic brand of cuteness as they cook something undoubtedly delicious while sneaking tastes from each other’s fingers.</p>
<p>When his stomach starts growling because he has not eaten anything since lunch time, he realizes his old crush is anything but gone. He is <em>jealous</em>, there is no way around it.</p>
<p>He hears Silvia’s bright laughter through the wall, joined shortly by Giampaolo’s. He can feel a piece forming in his throat, but he chooses anger instead of sadness, because being pissed off is easier to handle than tears.</p>
<p>The worst part is he knows his anger is completely unwarranted.</p>
<p>Giampaolo has never been more than a friend to him, and there remains a part of him that is genuinely happy as long as Giampaolo is happy. Silvia is hardly stealing Giampaolo away from Riccardo when he is sharing a flat and training with him every day. Riccardo has always appreciated his own space, so it should be a relief that Giampaolo spends some of his time with Silvia instead.</p>
<p>But why do they have to be in the kitchen when Giampaolo has his own room? If they could just take the hint and make themselves scarce, then at least Riccardo wouldn’t be stuck in his room, hungry, lonely and miserable…</p>
<p>(Riccardo is mostly mad at himself for not being able to let go.)</p>
<p>A knock on the door cuts his pity fest short.</p>
<p>“Go away!” Riccardo snaps, turning on his bed so his back is towards the door just as it creaks open.</p>
<p>“But I made you grilled cheese,” Giampaolo counters as he walks into the room, uninvited. He places a plate with two sandwiches on the bedside table and pushes a warm mug into Riccardo’s hands. The sweet scent of hot chocolate immediately clogs his senses. “You gotta stop starving yourself or the wind’s gonna blow you away in the next match.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Riccardo mutters, staring sullenly at the golden-brown sandwiches, still steaming hot, obviously fresh out of the grill. His stomach growls again as the smell of fried bread and cheese overpowers the chocolate and makes him want to stuff his face. Giampaolo’s presence is the only thing keeping him from doing just that.</p>
<p>Giampaolo chuckles and sits down next to him, a hand landing on the small of his back and sending a shiver up his spine. “What’s up with you? I haven’t seen you since morning.”</p>
<p>Riccardo swallows a snappy answer and hides behind the mug, sipping the hot beverage without a word. It is overwhelmingly sweet and laden with marshmallows, nothing like the dark cocoa his mom used to make.</p>
<p>What is he supposed to say to that? Sorry, didn’t wanna interfere with your date? Your girlfriend is making me feel like a third wheel and I hate that? <em>I’m having a mental breakdown because I think I might be in love with you?</em></p>
<p>“Just didn’t feel like talking, I guess,” he opts for the simplest answer and reaches for the sandwiches. They are crispy and greasy, with warm cheese dripping over his fingers as he takes the first bite – it is everything the team dietician tells them to avoid and thus absolutely delicious.</p>
<p>Giampaolo tilts his head and purses his lips – a familiar expression that has always made Riccardo wonder what it would feel like to kiss him – and then he grins and pokes Riccardo’s cheek with two fingers. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’m gonna drive Silvia back to Milano and will probably stay the night.”</p>
<p>He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and it makes Riccardo choke on his sandwich. Giampaolo laughs at him and Riccardo thanks his stars he took his reaction the wrong way.</p>
<p>Unshed tears are burning in his eyes, so he turns to look away from Giampaolo. “Okay. Drive safely.”</p>
<p>
  <em>No, please don’t leave me alone. </em>
</p>
<p>Riccardo can feel a twist in his gut, an uncomfortable feeling he has never associated with Giampaolo before. It is the old feeling of being unwanted, the feeling he remembers well from the time before Giampaolo moved to Bergamo.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” Giampaolo asks and Riccardo can feel the first tear rolling down his cheek, luckily hidden from Giampaolo’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he says softly, biting into his sandwich again to hide the fact he is using his other hand to wipe away the tear. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”</p>
<p>“…Yeah,” Giampaolo agrees. He lingers for a while longer, seemingly reluctant to leave, but then Silvia peeks into the room and asks if he is ready to go, so he has no choice but to give Riccardo a quick hug and walk out of the room.</p>
<p>Riccardo is missing him before he even hears the front door closing.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Riccardo turned 15 about five months after he met Giampaolo, and there was exactly one person he wanted to invite to his party.</p>
<p>Sometimes he wondered how Giampaolo had done it – peeled through his defences one by one until there were no layers left, only Riccardo’s real self he had never shown anyone outside his family – but most of the time he settled for sitting quietly and enjoying his company.</p>
<p>When the question of a birthday party was raised, it quickly became obvious there was no way for him to invite only one teammate, because that would have been bad for the “squad morale” – that was what their common friends claimed, anyways.</p>
<p>In the end, Riccardo ended up having a good dozen teammates over at his house, where his dad had made a huge cake and bought a bunch of salty snacks and fizzy drinks.</p>
<p>He got new Adidas boots from his parents and a pile of Atalanta memorabilia from his teammates. He was most impressed by a poster signed by all the first team players, though he later learned it was a gift every academy player got for their birthday that year.</p>
<p>After eating the cake, they played a few rounds of FIFA on Luca’s PlayStation Riccardo had snatched from his room for the occasion – he had gotten quite good at it since he was first invited to join the gaming nights and playing was always easier than trying to have a conversation with ten plus people in the same room.</p>
<p>However, in the end they still found themselves just sitting around, sipping cola, and talking about girls, because that’s what always happens when you put a bunch of teenage boys together.</p>
<p>“Oi Pazzo, did you ever get around to calling that blonde from Milano?”</p>
<p>Riccardo snapped back to attention after tuning out the conversation for some fifteen minutes – he had never been interested in girls, so what was the point – and he looked curiously up at Giampaolo who was sitting on the armrest of his chair, calf pressed against his thigh.</p>
<p>“Sure did,” Giampaolo grinned at the questioner, not even glancing at Riccardo, “we met up last weekend in Milano. She’s amazing – hot, smart, into football...”</p>
<p>The rest of his response was drowned out as the room exploded in catcalls and cheers, and finally Giampaolo looked down at Riccardo, a sheepish smile on his face.</p>
<p>(When Riccardo thought about it, Giampaolo probably hadn’t even meant to look at him – he was most likely just trying to avoid the other boys’ waggling eyebrows and intrusive questions.)</p>
<p>There was a small part of him that was upset Giampaolo was dating a girl, even though he had never given himself a permission to hope otherwise. But he <em>had</em> hoped. He had hoped so much that he wasn’t the only one – that Giampaolo, who had seen all parts of him, might be like him.</p>
<p>“What about the birthday boy? You seeing anyone, Ricky?” The question shook Riccardo out of his thoughts again, and he was surprised to realize the ruckus had calmed down.</p>
<p>Suddenly all eyes were on Riccardo and it made him tense up reflexively. They had never asked him before, so he hadn’t had time to come up with a safety lie. He felt Giampaolo’s hand rubbing the back of his neck comfortingly, and one look in his warm eyes immediately made it easier to breathe.</p>
<p>“I… I don’t have time for girls. Too busy trying to beat your asses on the pitch.”</p>
<p>He was proud of himself for coming up with a response that was both a near-truth and adequately sassy at the same time, but judging by the sceptical looks around the room, his teammates didn’t buy it for a second.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a spoilsport, Monto! You must have a <em>type</em> at least.”</p>
<p>“Football ain’t all there is. Just look at Pazzo, killing it on both fronts.”</p>
<p>“Surely there must be <em>someone</em> you like?”</p>
<p>The comments didn’t end there, a dozen boys all talking over each other, but Riccardo’s ears were ringing so hard by the third one that he couldn’t make any sense of the rest. Giampaolo’s hand on his neck suddenly felt too heavy, like it was pressing him down into the armchair.</p>
<p>His head was spinning, and he couldn’t make sense of anything around him. He needed to get away.</p>
<p>“I gotta--,” he started as he stood up abruptly, shaking Giampaolo’s hand off him, but he couldn’t think of one good excuse, so instead he just bolted out of the living room.</p>
<p>If anyone called after him, he did not hear it. He found himself in the kitchen, both palms pressed against the tabletop, the silence around him immediately soothing the bounding of his heart.</p>
<p>“Get it together,” he whispered to himself, staring at the half-empty bags on crisps on the counter as his tense muscles started unknotting one by one.</p>
<p>This was why he would have preferred to spend his birthday with only a few people. He was terrible in big groups, got overwhelmed too easily, and couldn’t handle having all the attention on himself. It was fine when he was playing football, because there he knew he was doing something he was good at, but social situations were a whole different story…</p>
<p>He didn’t realize someone was in the room with him before Giampaolo cleared his throat loudly, shaking him out of his own head.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Giampaolo asked in a soft voice as he walked over to him, though he made sure to leave an arm’s length between them. Like he was afraid Riccardo’s weirdness might be contagious.</p>
<p>Riccardo clenched his hands into fists and then loosened them slowly. Was he okay? Certainly not, but there was no way he could tell that to Giampaolo when he already thought him a freak. “…Yeah, I think so.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo didn’t say anything, only turned around and jumped to sit on the kitchen counter, leg only inches away from Riccardo’s closest hand. Riccardo was taken by a sudden urge to touch his thigh, though he squished it fast.</p>
<p>“I— thought we could use some more snacks.” He scrambled for an excuse that didn’t sound completely fake, fully aware the attempt was pointless when Giampaolo had held a front row seat to his earlier freak-out. “Crazy how much we eat, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, crazy,” Giampaolo replied, and Riccardo had a distinct feeling like he was not talking about the teenage eating habits. Another silence followed the statement, and Riccardo made no move to get the snacks he had talked about.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, you know,” Giampaolo finally said, voice gentle, “not being okay. I get it.”</p>
<p>Riccardo froze. He had known Giampaolo knew him better than the rest of his teammates, but he had not in his wildest dreams imagined his friend would actually address the issue.</p>
<p>He slowly turned his gaze to Giampaolo who met his eyes squarely, no deceit in his expression.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he whispered, voice trembling, “in that case, no, I’m not okay.” He ended the admission with a self-depreciating chuckle.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I can see that,” Giampaolo answered, swinging his legs against the kitchen cabinet. “You wanna talk about it? Or do you want me to just leave you alone?”</p>
<p>“No?” Riccardo’s lips moved before he had time to make a conscious decision. “To both?”</p>
<p>Giampaolo smiled, shoulders slumping as he visibly relaxed. “Sure, that works too. I’m told I’m great company. Do you want a hug, or do you prefer having your space?”</p>
<p>He spread his arms invitingly, and Riccardo found himself sinking into the offered comfort. Giampaolo’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as soon as he pressed his face against his chest, basking in his warmth and breathing in the scent of his sweater.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Surely there must be someone you like?”</em>
</p>
<p>There was, but it was not something Riccardo could ever share with his teammates.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Riccardo has just finished eating his takeaway Chinese and curled up in the corner of the couch with a book he has read many times before, when he hears a key turning and the front door opening.</p>
<p>He pretends to me immersed in his book when Giampaolo walks into the living room, eyes scanning over the page without taking in a single word, because he is hyperaware of Giampaolo’s presence. He is not supposed to be here, he is supposed to be in Milano with his girlfriend.</p>
<p>“Stop that, I know you’re not reading,” Giampaolo’s voice pierces through his bubble and bursts it without mercy. He is standing only a few steps away from the couch, arms crossed against his chest.</p>
<p>Riccardo lets out a long breath and drops the book into his lap, meeting Giampaolo’s eyes. At least he is not crying anymore. “I <em>was</em> before you interrupted. What’re you doing back so soon? Weren’t you guys planning a night of passionate sexing at hers?”</p>
<p>The words sound forced even to his own ears because they never talk about sex. Insinuate, yes, but Giampaolo has long since figured out Riccardo hates talking about relationships, sexual or otherwise.</p>
<p>“Hard to get in the mood when my best friend’s all I can think about.” Giampaolo plops down next to him, still wearing his coat and scarf. His cheeks are tinted red, probably from the cold night air.</p>
<p>Riccardo hugs the book against his chest and opts to look at the empty takeaway containers on the coffee table rather than his friend, because he knows he is blushing. “I hope you didn’t use those words when you told her. Wouldn’t wanna give a wrong impression…”</p>
<p>“Stop changing the subject,” Giampaolo huffs, his tone teetering between fond and exasperated.</p>
<p>“And what subject is that?” Riccardo asks, tightening his hold on his book like a shield. “I thought I just asked you why you were home so soon, and Silvia is definitely part of that.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo groans, now with obvious frustration, and he slumps back against the couch, neck craned and head thrown against the backrest. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>That gives Riccardo a pause.</p>
<p>Is he angry at Giampaolo? Surely not, it’s not like Giampaolo knew bringing his girlfriend over would throw Riccardo off so badly. Silvia has been visiting them on a weekly basis almost since Riccardo moved in, and it has never affected Riccardo quite as much as today. Giampaolo couldn’t have known.</p>
<p>“It’s not about you,” Riccardo says instead of answering outright. “It’s just my brain. It’s messed up.”</p>
<p>“You’re not messed up. You’re just being you,” as usual, Giampaolo argues without missing a beat. Riccardo’s chest fills up with warmth at that, because not once since they became friends has Giampaolo let him think he is not wanted or liked because of who he is.</p>
<p>“Besides, I can see Silvia whenever I want,” Giampaolo adds, switching back to the original topic. “What kinda friend would I be if I chose to spend time with a girl when my friend needs me?”</p>
<p>“The regular kind?” Riccardo suggests with a shrug. He doesn’t really have that many people he considers friends aside from Giampaolo, but as far as he understands romantic relationships, the whole point is to put your partner ahead of everyone else, friends included. “And we live together, Giampaolo. You can see <em>me</em> every day, that’s much more than you see her.”</p>
<p>“And that’s by choice, <em>Riccardo</em>.” Something in Giampaolo’s tone when he says his name makes Riccardo look at him. Giampaolo isn’t smiling, and there is a sharp crease between his eyebrows that makes him look intense, almost angry. “I asked you to move in with me because I want you around. Every. Single. Day.”</p>
<p>Riccardo opens his mouth to respond something sarcastic, but the jibe dies on his tongue. He can hear his heartbeat thrumming against his eardrums, the sound deafening in the silence that befalls them.</p>
<p>Riccardo is certain Giampaolo has no idea how his words come across. If he did, he would be much more careful with how he speaks his mind. Giampaolo has always been so considerate with Riccardo’s feelings and shortcomings, ever since he first told him to call him by his proper name, so if he only knew what his words were doing to Riccardo…</p>
<p>“Giampaolo…” he whispers but has no idea how to voice any of the feelings that seem to be overwhelming him.</p>
<p>“Riccardo,” Giampaolo repeats the name, his tone exactly the same as the previous time, dark eyes boring into his, “I need you to know, if I had to make a choice between you and Silvia— it’d always be you.”</p>
<p>So much for not crying. Riccardo feels the first tear rolling down his cheek, followed by many more. His sight is blurry, distorting Giampaolo’s features, and he cannot tell anymore if he looks intense or affectionate or something else altogether.</p>
<p>Through the blur he sees Giampaolo lifting his hand and bringing it to his face, using his thumb to try and wipe away the tears that are not stopping. His face is getting closer too, and Riccardo must close his eyes when the tears seem to fill them completely.</p>
<p>“Please tell me to stop,” Giampaolo whispers and Riccardo can feel his breath against his face. “If it’s too much, don’t hold it back. Just tell me I need to stop.”</p>
<p>Riccardo lets out a sound that is between a sob and a whimper when Giampaolo’s lips brush his. It doesn’t last more than a fraction of a second, and then Giampaolo presses his forehead against Riccardo’s, his stuttering breath still caressing his lips without actually touching.</p>
<p>“I need you to say something,” Giampaolo breathes out the words. His both hands are on Riccardo’s face now, cupping his cheeks gently. His touches are overwhelming, and they leave Riccardo’s body feeling like it is on fire. “I need you to tell me it’s okay, because I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”</p>
<p>Riccardo lifts one trembling hand to Giampaolo’s wrist, not to pull it away but just to confirm to himself he really is there. Giampaolo is holding his breath, Riccardo realizes when the warm breeze leaves his face.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he mouths the word, but no sound comes out. His throat feels like something is strangling him, so instead of trying to speak again, he tightens his hold on Giampaolo’s wrist and tips his chin up, bumping his nose against his friend’s before he manages to press a smallest peck against the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Is that a yes?” Giampaolo asks, but now Riccardo can feel the smile against his lips, and he doesn’t wait for another confirmation as he tilts his head and kisses Riccardo properly, his soft lips suddenly firm and decisive, seeking a rhythm that fits both of them and stealing Riccardo’s last breath right off his lips.</p>
<p>It is Riccardo’s first kiss, and the only thing he tastes are his own tears.</p>
<p>He tries to return the kiss the best he can, but it is hard when his whole body is trembling and his brain is just full of Giampaolo, his presence loud as ever even when he doesn’t say a thing.</p>
<p>The tip of Giampaolo’s tongue caresses his lower lip, and Riccardo needs to break the kiss to gasp for breath. His head is spinning with lack of air, little stars are dancing behind his still closed eyelids, and his chest is aching with a combined panic and desire.</p>
<p>Giampaolo presses another kiss on his cheek, nuzzling his temple with his nose, and then he presses his forehead against Riccardo’s shoulder with a breathless laugh as his hands slide off his face and settle around his waist instead.</p>
<p>Slowly, Riccardo melts into the embrace and even dares to drape his own arms around Giampaolo’s midsection, hands slipping under his armpits and chest pressing fully against his friend’s.</p>
<p><em>Please let this last forever</em>, his brain whispers even though he doesn’t believe in God.</p>
<p>Maybe he is asking Giampaolo, in the only way he knows.</p>
<p>“Giampaolo,” he whispers out loud, voice still thin and breakable but at least it’s there, “did you mean it, when you said…” <em>That you’d always choose me.</em></p>
<p>“You silly little…” Giampaolo hums against his shoulder and then turns his head to kiss his way up his neck, until he is talking straight into his ear, “I’ve adored you from day one, Riccardo. Why’d you think I kept following you around like a lost puppy even after you told me to get lost?”</p>
<p>The ache inside Riccardo’s chest only intensifies, affection and fear and need flooding his every sense. “I… I thought you were just being an annoying busybody.”</p>
<p>Giampaolo snorts out a laugh, and somehow it makes Riccardo relax even as he speaks the next, dreaded words, “And then you met Silvia, and I thought--”</p>
<p>Giampaolo kisses the shell of his ear, shushing him gently before he has a chance to get on with his rambling. “She never compared to you. Believe me, I tried to forget, because I thought you wouldn’t have me. But tonight, when I was driving her home and couldn’t stop thinking about you, I realized…”</p>
<p>Riccardo sucks in a sharp breath as Giampaolo tightens his hold on his waist. He knows what Giampaolo is about to say, and he is not sure he is ready to hear it.</p>
<p>Giampaolo sits up straighter, until he can just about meet Riccardo’s eyes without loosening his hold. “I realized that I needed to know. That even if you wouldn’t have me, you were still the only one I--”</p>
<p>“Please stop?” Riccardo interrupts him. The hurt that flashes across Giampaolo’s face breaks his heart, but he knows for a fact that if Giampaolo says it now, he <em>will</em> freak out and very possibly ruin the moment he still doesn’t want to let go.</p>
<p>He slips one arm away from Giampaolo’s waist and brings it up to his face, tracing his features with his fingertips, memorizing the sensation in case this turns out to be just a fever dream.</p>
<p>“I get it,” he whispers and tries to smile even as he dreads the moment Giampaolo realizes this was all a terrible mistake. “I get it, Giampaolo, but can we just… stay like this for a bit? Do we have to talk about it?”</p>
<p>He can feel the tension bleeding out of Giampaolo’s body more than he can see it.</p>
<p>“Anything you want, Riccardo.” Giampaolo turns his head and presses a softest kiss against his fingertips. “There’s no rush. I will always choose you, no matter how long I have to wait.”</p>
<p>Riccardo covers his mouth with his hand to stop him from talking, though he can’t help but return the smile he sees in his eyes with a shy one of his own.</p>
<p>“Can I at least kiss you again?” Giampaolo asks, lips brushing Riccardo’s palm with each word.</p>
<p>Riccardo doesn’t respond in words, he only drops his hand from Giampaolo’s mouth and allows him to reclaim his lips, the ache in his chest slowly breaking into a flutter of million butterflies.</p>
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